Karma
by robotmonarchy
Summary: Chris is more than content with giving, and Dan is learning how to accept taking. (Fluff;Buddyshipping;crossposted from AO3)


" **D** an? Dan, are you there?" Chris shouts outside his friend's door. He was visiting today because once again, he was promised bingo. He was very eager to make Dan keep his promise. Chris decides to knock again. No answer. A bad feeling settles into Chris' stomach. Which is unnerving, being that Chris is very high maintenance about the state of his stomach. Remembering the spare key Dan stuck in the sole of his sandal, Chris unlocks and opens the door to Dan's apartment. ( _Or our apartment_ , Chris thinks, _if I'm honest.)_

"What happened here?" Chris couldn't help but notice that there was a new hole in the far off wall of the living room. (Vaguely, Chris wonders if he will somehow end up paying for that.) The coffee table is upturned, a broken vase and dried flowers are scattered on the kitchen floor, and Dan's phone is cracked and discarded near the door way. Mr. Mumbles is hiding in the nearby kitchen sink, the cat's eyes are wide with terror as her trembling body looks at Chris and directs his gaze towards the figure laying on the floor. "Dan?" Chris calls out meekly, fearing the worst. "Not…now, Chris." The corpse mutters. As his friend stared at him, Dan looked...vacant, boneless in the sheets he wrapped himself in on the floor. Chris closes the door behind him and walks towards Dan with resolution (but not before casting a reassuring glance at Mr. Mumbles' direction.) With thoughts and heavily studied Psychology trivia gearing in his head, Chris kneels on one knee next to Dan, trying to gauge how deep he is in today's depressive episode. _Disassociation?_ Chris notes, recalling the many books he's read over the years to understand and cope with the tiny man before him.

"Really bad today, huh buddy?" Chris whispers. Lazily Dan lifts an arm as if to swing at him for asking such a stupid question in response, but its weak, it misses, and falls ungracefully in defeat. "Dan..." Chris frowns, "It's okay. I'm here, you don't have to fight anymore." Seeing that Dan has no comment, Chris lies down on the floor so that his face is directly next to Dan's and smiles at him despite of Dan's tired face. Somewhere in the waves of Dan's thoughts, he wanted to call his friend irritating for being so dam reassuring. Chris wanted to feel awkward, but he's seen Dan like this before. Plenty of times during childhood, in high school, and to now—although it happens less and less. Always, (whether he wanted to or not) Chris has been here to help him. But how he chooses to help nowadays has also changed. Still, Chris finds it hard to gauge exactly what Dan wants, exactly what Dan needs... "Can you talk about it right now?" He asks, wondering if it's the right thing to say. A moment passes and Chris had just began thinking Dan has sunken too deep out of reality, when Dan quietly mutters a phrase that only Chris could hear in the short gap between them. "Mom...called." Dan manages, his green eyes watering at the memory. Chris swallowed. A lifetime of Dan's offhanded family comments and memories of their youth came rushing towards him. That was all the information he needed. With worry, Chris lifts a hand to cradle Dan's face, a thumb lightly feathering an eyebrow.

Dan exhales, leaning into Chris' hand more than he wants to admit. A smile tugs on Chris' face, as his other hand wipes fresh tears from Dan's face. His short friend mumbles irritably, "Better not laugh." The begging, desperate " _Please._ " is left unsaid, but is heard. Cautiously, Chris cradles Dan's face closer and dares to press his lips to Dan's forehead in answer. For a moment, his friend tenses, but then succumbs into Chris' embrace. Dan's arms wrap around the bigger man's torso, sobbing silently into his friend's chest. At a gradual pace, Dan begins to sense light and circling touches on his lower back that eventually comfort his tears to a stop. Chris gets up, and Dan _definitely_ doesn't whimper with the sudden loss of contact. Choosing not to comment (although absolutely reeling internally over how adorable it was), Chris positions his back to face the wall and pulls Dan close to his chest. _Little do people know_ , Chris muses, _but Dan actually does have a limit_. He can only handle so much rage, can only get so angry before he exhausts himself and he's left to suffer in oceans of miserable thoughts and self-loathing. That's why Dan gets angry at all, it's much easier to be blinded with rage rather than depression. Chris wonders about the things he doesn't know about, the things that have wrecked Dan into the neurotic man he is today. _Maybe that's why he forgets_ , Chris thinks. _Maybe that's why he forgets people care._ Knowing this, Chris tries not to think about the roaches that could bother them while they're on the floor, but instead caresses the hair on Dan's head, presses kisses on the nape of Dan's neck, and whispers the right sweet messages to his ear, reaching him in whatever way he can.

Dan, comfortable sitting like this with Chris, melts in his touch. He still stares at the rest of the apartment in front of them, grimacing at what mess his mind brought him today. Internally, he knows he should thank Chris. Or yell at him. Or make a dry statement about how awkward he should probably feel. Something. Dan should do something, instead of just accepting pampering like this. But for now, he's going to focus on every caress, every kiss, that brings him a step closer to reconstructing reality. Feeling entirely fuzzy all over, Dan's not sure if he's making up the warmness emanating from within his chest, or if it's just the heat Chris produces directly behind him. Idly, Dan thinks that if he was as kind as Chris he could be as warm as him too. _Ha, that'll never happen_ , Dan's thoughts echo bitterly. As if to silence that particular thought, Chris presses another kiss to the nape of his neck, this one lingering seconds longer than the rest.

... _Or maybe not never,_ Dan dares.

"Hey Dan," Chris begins, as he always does in his healing rituals, "Do you remember when we first met? At summer camp?" Dan only grunts in response. "You were tied to the tree. But you had an apple." Laughter was in Chris' voice. Dan, finally, smiles. "Which you ate." It's blissful when Chris' chest rumbles with laughter. "You do remember." Chris wipes the remaining tears left on Dan's face, stopping now and then to use his fingers to admire Dan's cheeks. The larger man wonders if he was really that hungry for fruit back then _(which, let's face it, I most likely was),_ or if a part of him knew he'd be making an interaction that would determine his fate forever. As they both grew up together, there were always cycles where Chris was exhausted of Dan, loved Dan, loathed Dan, needed Dan, ignored Dan, regretted ever speaking to Dan, but he realizes, as he looks tenderly down at the small figure in front of him, that he always wanted to protect Dan. Maybe that's just his job. Perhaps its Karma, as his friend would put it—albeit inaccurately. But Chris figures it _had_ to be _some_ cosmic force bringing them where they were today.

In the midst of comfortable silence only interrupted by their breathing, Dan pulls Chris' hand from his face, and brings it to his own, intertwining their fingers.

"How could I forget...it's when I met my best friend." Warmly, Chris smiles, and turns Dan's chin towards his lips for a gentle kiss.


End file.
